


Unforgettable

by HoneyBeeez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (kyoutani's dog from the light novel specifically), Accidental kisses, Dogs, Getting Together, M/M, Tension, purposeful kisses, these two are just dorks and i love them so much, this was a request and the idea of this made me so happy so YAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 09:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeez/pseuds/HoneyBeeez
Summary: Yahaba knows there's things you would rather forget and others you'd rather remember. But when the lines blur and the distinction falls away, some things (those scribbled out, painted in black, shoved into a dark corner never to be looked at the same again) become unforgettable.~A request from the amazing kyouhabs on tumblr~





	Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> so im taking requests and kyouhabs on tumblr (check them out, they're fantastic!!) wanted a getting together fic! and so here it is! thank you!!

Yahaba can officially say things have been going well.

Since the third years graduated, he’s only had one (1) panic attack about the future of the team, he hasn’t broken down screaming at Kyoutani in front of the first years in more than a month, and he actually feels _on top of things_ in the first time since he can remember. In a word, it’s good.

Until it all goes to complete shit.

He’s spending the day at Kyoutani’s house, mostly because he needs help with an essay and Kyoutani is ironically good at shoving words together for someone who barely speaks, but he isn’t getting much work done. It wasn’t really his fault, since Kyoutani’s dog (a beautiful Shiba Inu with the most expressive eyes he’s ever seen) keeps licking at his face and trying to flop down onto his lap.

Seeing Kyoutani try to uselessly stop the dog from doing any more damage is possibly the highlight of Yahaba’s weekend, but it would be better if he could use his highlighted notes from last week to make a decent-sounding argument.

“You _could_ argue the author was bein’ literal,” Kyoutani mutters, barely glancing at the notes he’s frantically scanning. Yahaba blinks before looking up at the other boy.

“There’s not much evidence for that,” Yahaba counters. Kyoutani sighs heavily as he collapses on his bed, and Yahaba can’t tell if he’s being dramatic or serious.

“It’s an extended metaphor, right?” Yahaba has to remember what he’s talking about before he nods in response. “And it’s just a pond, or a lake, _whatever it is_. He’s talkin’ about something specific, vivid… he could really be describin’ something he saw instead of tryin’ to unlock the secrets of the root of human emotions or whatever they’re trying to make you write about.”

Yahaba purses his lips together as he takes another look at the text. He sees what Kyoutani means, but there’s no way of knowing for sure if the writing is literal.

“How do I…?”

“Back this up?” Kyoutani finishes, squishing his dog’s face in his hands before looking up at him. “The title. The use of heavy imagery. The consistency of the writing.” The last one brings Yahaba up short, and the blonde picks up on it before he does “If it was about anything else, the writer would have gone off on a tangent near or after the first paragraph. But they stayed.”

“Right…” Yahaba breaths, looking at the text again. “You’re right!”

“Now write it,” Kyoutani scoffs.

Yahaba makes a face at him before turning back to his paper, writing down notes on what Kyoutani said in the margins and getting to work.

It feels like forever stretches on in front of him as he writes paragraph after paragraph, but after a while he's grabbing another page, and then another, and then he's dropping his pen, flopping forward, and sighing.

Kyoutani's dog leaps from her human’s side and starts licking at his ears.

"You finished?" Kyoutani asks, sitting up and giving him a look as Yahaba laughs and tries to push the dog away.

"Yeah," Yahaba manages to laugh without getting the dog's tongue in his mouth. "Thanks for helping," he adds, scratching the dog under the chin as he gives Kyoutani a look.

"I just want you outta my house," Kyoutani deadpans, sounding extremely serious and his face like stone, but the way his eyes gleam as he says it gives him away. Yahaba shakes his head.

"Shut up, you like it when I come over," he says, rolling his eyes. Kyoutani scoffs, getting up and picking his way across the room, careful to avoid the clothes and papers that were scattered haphazardly across the floor.

“Sure,” he agrees, “but only because I’m reminded that you actually have a heart when you play with my dog.” At her being mentioned, Kyoutani’s dog gives Yahaba a final lick and prances to his side, sitting down and looking up at him with stars in her eyes. “You want something to eat?”

“Nah,” Yahaba says, brushing the offer off as he starts to pack away his things. “I should probably get back home before my dad starts thinking I have friends.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“He’ll keep asking about you,” Yahaba says, and when Kyoutani huffs, he glares. “No, you don’t understand. He still asks about a friend I had in elementary school. _Elementary_.”

“At least he cares,” Kyoutani says with a shrug. “My dad doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Lucky,” Yahaba says, tugging at a final zipper and getting to his feet. “Besides, I’d bet you’d like the-” he’s saying as he ambles towards Kyoutani, but the dog rushes toward him, and he can’t stop his feet until it’s too late and he’s stumbling over the poor girl and he can’t catch himself-

And then he’s crashing into Kyoutani, and something clacks against his teeth hard enough for him to worry about a chipped tooth and there’s something _warm_ near his face, on his lips, and it barely registers that _they were kissing_ before Yahaba flies back with a strangled noise trying to escape the back of his throat.

“Uh…” Kyoutani articulates, and Yahaba can’t meet his eye. His cheeks are _burning_ and he shouldn’t be this embarrassed but his teeth hurt and his lips are too warm and his waist _tingles_ where Kyoutani’s hands kept him from falling and it’s just _too much_.

“I, uh. Uhm. Thanks for… I gotta…” He doesn’t finish whatever half-baked phrases are flying to his mouth and he rushes out of Kyoutani’s room, Kyoutani’s house, Kyoutani’s _street_ because he’s too distracted by everything he’s _feeling_.

They _kissed_.

He crosses a street blindly and almost gets hit by a bicyclist.

The walk back home isn’t long, but his feet carry him as his mind wanders, assesses, tries to _make sense of this_ because his lips shouldn’t still be warm like this but they are and he shouldn’t be thinking about trying to kiss him again to see if it’ll stop, and he’s home in no time.

A cold shower and some onigiri found in the fridge help some, but the memory of how Kyoutani’s teeth and lips clashed with his own makes him confused. Makes him wish he didn’t run.

* * *

 

Yahaba lets himself sleep through three of his alarms, giving him just enough time to throw on his practice uniform and _bolt_. He arrives just as practice is starting and he can feel all eyes landing on him as he enters. He bows deeply and apologizes for being late, all the while avoiding the pointed stare that has the hair on the back of his neck standing up that he _knows_ Kyoutani is giving him.

It’s a disaster, and he only has himself to blame. He practices serves and sets with the first years, hanging back to observe their progress for the most part, but he keeps finding his gaze drifting to the golden-haired ace.

It’s like something is sitting on his chest and he can’t knock it off. He can’t breathe right knowing Kyoutani is _right there_ and yet he can’t get away from it, like his body wants him to suffocate. He’s off throughout practice. No matter how hard he tries, it doesn’t feel right. _He_ doesn’t feel right.

Class is a reprieve. He hands in the essay Kyoutani helped him write and takes as many notes as possible. He does anything to keep his mind from reviewing the events of last night, anything to stop feeling and thinking. And if he’s covering his mouth with one hand while doing it, trying hard to erase the phantom sensation of another pair of lips on his and clacking teeth that he can still feel if he tries hard enough, who cares?

He pours over a book he’s not supposed to start until next week during lunch, giving the excuse that he’s behind to Watari when he comes to collect him. He tries to find what he’s reading interesting, but even though he’s flipping through the pages diligently, he was only taking in about a word or two per page. He absent-mindedly eats as he “reads,” tuning out everyone and everything as he tries to forget himself.

* * *

 

“We need to talk,” a familiar voice sounds behind him as he’s locking up the gym after afternoon practice. He tries hard to suppress his jerk, and instead hopes that it looks more like shock at a voice rather than at the source of the voice. Kyoutani looks unimpressed, either way.

“We… we do?” Yahaba says, wincing at his stutter and not meeting the other’s eyes.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kyoutani grits out, tension deepening the furrow of his brow and squaring his shoulders. Yahaba holds his breath, waiting for whatever the next thing out of Kyoutani’s mouth but it doesn’t come. Instead, he sees Koyutani soften, even if it’s just a touch, as he jerks his head away from the gym and towards the front gates.

Yahaba thinks of not following him, thinks of walking the other direction and avoiding all of this, because his head is _already_ messed up being near Kyoutani and he really doesn’t think he can survive the conversation he’s fishing for. But his feet follow him diligently off campus and down the roads that lead them toward the general direction of _home_.

Most of the walk is silent. Their footfalls scuff the sidewalk as they pass under weakly flickering streetlamps. The sun finishes setting by the time they’re two blocks away from where they should be parting ways when Kyoutani decides to say something.

“It was just an accident,” he murmurs, and Yahaba has to lean in close to really hear what he says next. “If it bothers you so much, then just forget it.”

“I would if I could.” He hears his voice in his ears instead of feeling his mouth move. They stop at a crosswalk, right under the patchy pale yellow light of a streetlamp, and stare at each other. Yahaba feels paralyzed under the pressure of the ace’s stare. He can’t run like he wants to, can’t tear his eyes away from where they’re locked with Kyoutani’s, can’t twist his fingers into the extra t-shirt he’s wearing that he forgot he had in his bag, can’t smack himself for not _thinking before speaking_ -

“What.”

It’s not a question. The word is spit out hastily, like if it wasn’t said the world would collapse, as given as air and as necessary as the thrum of a pulse. Yahaba feels the word slip through his ears and down his throat, expanding like a massive cotton ball being pulled, pulled, _pulled_ until he feels on the brink of throwing up.

“It’s stuck,” Yahaba finds himself saying, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor and brings a hand up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “The memory. I. I didn’t want it to happen, and it _was_ an accident-”

“Forget it,” Kyoutani says roughly, cutting him off. The razor edge of his voice makes him look up. His eyes feel like steel rather than the gold they are and determination sets in the lines of his frown and his furrowed brow. “It’s not worth you getting messed up over. It was an accident, it meant nothing, so forget it.” When Yahaba doesn’t respond, when there’s no words running through his mind or lips, Kyoutani sighs, turns, and continues walking. “It never happened,” he calls behind him as he crosses the street.

Yahaba doesn’t catch up to him, only trails behind for the next block until he goes his own way.

* * *

 

He can’t say it never happened.

A week goes by and he _tries_ to forget, he really does, but the memory refuses to fade. He barely remembers what he had for dinner two days ago, yet he can replicate exactly how Kyoutani’s hands were splayed out on his waist when he caught him, he still tongues his front teeth where they cracked against the other’s mouth, and he’s still haunted by the midnight blue of the bike that nearly hit him as he fled. And these details hover right on the edge of his thoughts, seeping into them as he loses focus, cropping up when he does something or other mindlessly.

Running has him tripping over his own shoes. Setting has him aiming too high or too low. Receiving has him with scuffs on his chin and cheeks as he misses ball after ball. Serving has him hitting nothing but net. He’s frustrated and everyone knows it.

“Kyoutani!” he yells, locking the gym up as quickly as he can after everyone files out. The ace freezes before turning towards him slowly with something like expectance etched across his face. “We need to talk.”

“Finally,” someone mutters faintly. Yahaba glares as his teammates scatter, but his stuttering heart reminds him of the matter at hand.

“We do?” Kyoutani asks, genuinely curious. Yahaba can’t help the way his throat constricts, like he’s being strangled by his own fear. He brings himself to nod, and Kyoutani doesn’t press for more.

“Did you…” he manages to get out after a second. He clears his throat, cutting through nerves, and sucks in a shallow breath before continuing. “Did you forget about what happened?”

“You didn’t,” Kyoutani notes, inclining his chin a bit as he surveys him.

“ _Answer the question_ ,” he says through clenched teeth. He feels his heart stuttering, starting up like an old car engine before flatlining once again. His blood feels like it’s freezing in his veins as Kyoutani meets his eye.

“No,” he mutters, and some of the tension squaring Yahaba’s shoulders dissipates.

“Do you _want_ to forget?” Yahaba demands, taking a step closer.

“Why does this matter so much?” Kyoutani yells back, not backing down. His face was pinched, a corner of his lips quirked into a snarl. “It was a fuckin’ accident, just forg-”

“ _Maybe_ I _don’t want to forget_ ,” Yahaba spits, the frustration, desperation, and _hurt_ he was drowning in for the past week saturating his voice. The words hang in the air between them and it takes a second for Yahaba to stop staring at Kyoutani’s blown-wide eyes and take a shaky step back.

“You don’t…?” Kyoutani asks, almost like the possibility wasn’t thought of until now.

“No,” Yahaba says, the resolution solid. “I get that it was an accident, and it doesn’t mean anything, but I just… what if it _wasn’t_ an accident?”

There was another half-thought bubbling on his lips before something pushes up under his chin and warmth is slotting over his lips. Yahaba leans back, feeling his pulse thrum in his temples and his cheeks blaze, and sees Kyoutani closer than he ever has before. It’s jarring, in the rawest sense, but Kyoutani’s finger is still crooked under his chin and his lips are _millimeters_ away from his own, and he can’t let that go.

Yahaba tilts his head, letting their lips slide together, and he can’t help but gasp at the feeling. It’s simple, just pressure and warmth and something familiar that Yahaba can’t name or place, but it’s leagues ahead of the only thing he has to compare it to. Kyoutani shifts, his hand moving to cradle the back of his neck and lips pressing a bit more insistently.

His hand reacts on its own, reaching up and grasping at Kyoutani’s shirt, just as the other boy breaks the kiss. Yahaba’s seen Kyoutani this gentle, this _soft_ , with this brand of affection practically stamped across his forehead, but Yahaba would have never expected it to be directed toward him.

“I tripped,” Kyoutani deadpans, even though he’s smiling.

“Stupid,” Yahaba laughs. His fingers tighten where they clutch at Kyoutani’s shirt before falling away. “Do I have to forget that one, too?” he mumbles as Kyoutani’s hand slips onto his shoulder.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Kyoutani responds easily.

“If I forget,” Yahaba says, fishing, and Kyoutani gives him a look, “could you remind me?” Being sly obviously doesn’t work, Yahaba notes, as Kyoutani huffs in feigned annoyance and turns away, and in the weak lighting Yahaba can barely make out the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“No, never,” Kyoutani protests, rolling his eyes and jostling his backpack higher on his shoulder. “If you forget, _I’ll_ be the one messing up in practice.”

“Rude,” Yahaba scoffs, following his example and falling into step as they walk off campus. “I was only messing up because of you, you know.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Kyoutani muses, chuckling when Yahaba elbows his arm.

The rest of their way home was mostly silent, their footfalls scuffing the sidewalk and the warm glow of the streetlamps illuminating the way just for them. Their fingers intertwine at some point, forgetting where one hand starts and the other begins. It’s good like this, Yahaba thinks. Even if he thinks letting go of Kyoutani’s hand feels like the world crumbling under his feet when they have to part ways, he knows that a touch of his lips can pull it all back together.


End file.
